Baker's Dozen
by lastknownwriter
Summary: Every weekday at 12:05, a handsome dark haired stranger sits by the window in Dean Winchester's bakery.
1. Chapter 1

Dean wiped the counter in slow circles as the lunch crowd dwindled, staring into space.

Sam glanced over as he popped open the register to toss in a handful of crumpled ones and change, his tip from the college girls at the back of the bakery. "You all right in there?"

"Huh?" Dean started. "Oh. Yeah." Dean slapped the rag across his palm and hitched up the half apron he had tied around his waist. He turned toward the swinging door.

"You could just go over there. Talk to him," Sam said nonchalantly, slamming the drawer shut with a smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean muttered, disappearing into the kitchen.

Sam of course, being a whiny bitch, followed.

"Tall, dark, and nerdy by the window? Reading a paperback and sipping coffee, two sugars with cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon? The way he does every weekday at twelve oh five on the dot?" Sam offered drily.

Dean ignored his little brother; little being a misnomer because Sam out stretched him by more than two inches now. No matter; Dean could still take him.

"Sometimes he has Danish," Dean grumbled. He flushed when Sam snorted.

"Have you _ever_ talked to him? Giving him his total doesn't count." Sam rushed to add when Dean opened his mouth to argue.

Dean clamped his lips together.

Sam chuckled and reached under the stainless steel work table to drag out a perfectly gorgeous roast beef and Swiss sandwich on poppy seed bun. The lettuce was crisp and green, the tomato perfectly ripe, and a swatch of Dean's special mustard added the perfect hint of spicy goodness. "Why don't you offer him a little lunch to go with his coffee."

Dean eyeballed the sandwich, hesitating. "He won't take it," he finally said with a sigh. "He's been comin' in for six weeks, same time, every day. He never does anything but sit there and read that book."

"And watch you," Sam grinned.

Dean flushed. "No he doesn't."

"Oh yeah, he totally does." Sam set the plate on the countertop. "You're wearing the good jeans. Either go out there and sashay around clearing tables so the guy didn't make a wasted trip or," he tapped the edge of the bun. "Take him a sandwich and ask him his name."

"Castiel," Dean blurted before he thought.

Sam's smile widened and he handed Dean the crisp blue plate and pushed him toward the door. "And you're Dean. Sounds like you two have loads to talk about."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean took a deep breath and barreled through the swinging door.

And nearly crashed right into Castiel, who was standing beside the register, frowning that cute little scowl that meant his cup was empty.

Dean froze.

Castiel's lips parted.

"I made you a sandwich," Dean blurted and thrust the plate into his hands.

Castiel blinked. "I was just leaving." His eyes dropped to the bun, now listing to one side.

"Take it," Dean said. He could feel his face turning red. "On the house."

Castiel considered the sandwich for a long beat.

Dean felt lightheaded from the oxygen deprivation and anxiety. "Man can't live on coffee alone," he quipped lamely. He was going to make the biggest Texas sheet cake of life this afternoon. And then he was going to eat it.

Castiel's lashes fluttered and a pair of insanely blue eyes met Dean's. "Thank you, Dean."

And then he smiled and Dean's chest exploded in a flurry of butterflies.

He was so overwhelmed that Castiel _knew his name, _ he almost forgot to say _you're welcome,_ the words were scratchy and breathless and aimed mostly at Castiel's back, because the man in question was already walking out the door.

Dean collapsed against the counter, head pillowed on one arm, and tried to remember how to breathe.

Sam patted him soothingly on the back. "He took our plate."

"I'll buy another plate," Dean mumbled.

"Texas sheet cake?" Sam asked in amusement.

Dean straightened and sighed. "I'll go get the butter."

…

The next day 12:05 came and went.

No Castiel.

Dean baked two cherry pies.

The day after that, no Castiel.

Cinnamon streusel crumb cake. Extra streusel. A bucket of streusel.

The day after that, Dean had a raging migraine. _'Too much sugar, Dean, you're probably going into a diabetic coma' _according to that rat bastard Sammy, on whom Dean _entirely_ placed the blame for this mess. If it hadn't been for Sammy's meddling, Dean would never have attacked Castiel with a sandwich, and he would still have that thirty minute period of happy voyeurism to look forward to every day.

Sometimes Castiel would laugh to himself, or at whatever beat up old paperback he was reading, and Dean's heart would do a little flip in his chest.

Other times he would stare out the window, watching the passersby on the sidewalk, and Dean sort of loved those times the best, because _goddamn,_ that was a good profile.

Today, lunch was insanity, bodies crowding the counter, a line to the door. Sam thrived, in his element, a carnival barker shouting orders and enticing patrons with promises of espresso and sourdough. Twelve oh five passed and Dean never even noticed until he was giving someone their change and a dark head entered his peripheral vision. His heart began to pound and he turned eagerly to the customer, only to find a stranger staring back at him.

He was depressed after that. And grumpy. And embarrassed, because he had chased away a loyal customer, one who had only been looking for a quiet cup of coffee, who wanted to sit and read his books in peace.

The lunch crowd finally dispersed and a minor fiasco with a delivery truck sent Sam scurrying into the street to deal with it. "And leave me to bus tables," Dean muttered to himself, holding a plastic tub on his hip and dropping in dirty flatware and dishes. "I should take Jo's advice and switch to paper. Save me a heap of trouble."

"But you would lose all of your charm," said a voice at his back.

Dean spun around, the plates clattering inside the tub.

Castiel's eyes flicked to the vicinity of Dean's apron and then back again. "Well, not _all_ of your charm."

Dean realized his mouth was hanging open and he rammed his lips together so hard his teeth clicked. _Is he flirting with me? _Dean's thoughts tumbled over one another. _That sounded like flirting. Flirt back. Flirt back! _ "Uh," he said and then winced. _Idiot._

Castiel held up a blue plate, shiningly clean and polished. "That sandwich was amazing. Might I have another?"

"Where have you been?" Dean blurted, immediately sorry his hands were full because he would really like to hide behind them now.

The barest hint of a smile played at the other man's pretty mouth.

_He needs some Chapstick, _Dean thought distractedly.

"My coworker quit unexpectedly and I was forced to skip lunch for a few days to make up the difference."

Dean sighed, relief soothing his jangled nerves and the deep tones of Castiel's voice filling him with a new anticipation. _That was a good voice. _He realized Castiel was waiting for him to speak and he flushed. "That's terrible," he offered a little desperately. He shifted the tub, feeling unexpectedly shy. _Cas was here. Cas was here and he wanted Dean to feed him._

_ Lord have mercy._

Dean swallowed hurriedly and nodded toward the kitchen. "Let me put these in the back and I'll make you some lunch." He ducked around the back of the table he had been clearing, even though brushing past Castiel would have been quicker. _Chickenshit._

"And Dean?"

Dean paused by the swinging door, face still hot, pulse fucking _giddy_ in his veins. "Yeah?"

"Do you have time to take a break?"

"Yeah, sure," he exhaled, hoping Cas wouldn't hear the wobbly bits in his voice. "I can do that."

Outside on the sidewalk, the delivery guy nudged Sam. "Can we go in now, hot shot? I got other orders to fill."

Sam grinned. "Yup. All clear."

…


End file.
